Life
by BlueSuedeShoes
Summary: For Raqi: It was wrong. It was against nature. It defied the order of things. He was supposed to die. She was supposed to live. That was the way it was supposed to be: today and a thousand days after, she was supposed to live.


**Author's Comment: For Raqi. Prompt to write Chloe getting her powers back in order to save Oliver.**

**BlueSuedeShoes**

* * *

"No."

The word, whispered so softly it should have been unintelligible, echoed throughout the room.

"Please no. Not like this."

She pressed her shirt into the bullet wound, willing it to stop bleeding, telling herself that if only it would stop bleeding, he would be fine. The shot couldn't have been fatal. It couldn't. She wouldn't let it.

"Chloe, stop it," he choked out the words, blood bubbling around his lips. "Nothing you can do."

"No!" she almost shouted it this time. She shook her head, tears burning her eyes as she refused to release them. She threw herself on top of him, at last releasing her now blood-soaked shirt in order to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his neck. "Don't."

With effort, he raised a hand to stroke her hair. _You'll be fine, Sidekick._ He tried to force the words out, but all that came was coughing and sputtering. He cringed in pain as it shot through his chest like a hot knife.

"I won't let you," she said, raising her head slightly, shaking it in defiance. The first tear fell, then a second.

Then, unnoticed by either of them, the third, gleaming white tear dropped from her cheek to his chest.

Oliver gasped for air, shock coursing through his system as white light filled the room. He could actually feel the pain leaving his body, seeping out of him like poison being removed from his system.

Had the room not begun to come into sharper focus he would have thought he was dying. Choking, he rolled his head to the side and spat the blood and saliva from his mouth.

Understanding was there, though it shouldn't have been. It was impossible because she'd lost her power. But regardless, the knowledge was simply..._there. _He closed his eyes, willing it to be otherwise, but when he lifted his head and opened them, it was true. She was there, lying across his body. Lifeless.

He wanted to curse her, to curse God, to curse Krypton or Clark or the damned criminal who'd shot him and driven her to it, anyone he could find to blame for the fact that she was dead because of him.

It was wrong. It was against nature. It defied the order of things. He was supposed to die. She was supposed to live. That was the way it was supposed to be: today and a thousand days after, she was supposed to live.

Crushing the voice in his head that said she might not wake up this time, and that it would be his fault for getting killed--because he _had_ been killed--he lifted her body and carried her to the couch, disgusted with his ability to do so.

He leaned over her and brushed the hair out of her face so gently the movement was almost timid. Looking down he saw her white tank top was covered in blood. His blood.

He wanted to vomit, but averted his eyes to calm his stomach. He left the room to strip his gear and find fresh clothes. It didn't matter what. Anything to remove the blood from his sight. He grabbed a long dress shirt before leaving the room.

He approached the couch and then gently lifted her, tentatively peeling off her shirt and then replacing it with his. He laid her down again, this time fitting a pillow beneath her head.

Then he left her side again, moving to clean the blood from the floor, keeping his hands busy and his mind thoughtless. Anything not to think. Anything to avoid recognizing the possibility that it might be different this time because she had gone years without any sign of her ability remaining.

He clenched his fist until his hand throbbed.

"No."

* * *

Ten hours had passed and he was still there, sitting in the chair beside the sofa, staring at her, willing her to come to life. Willing her heart to start beating again.

He had long since cleaned the floor, burnt their bloody clothes in the alley outside the building. Then he had returned, and he had been patiently sitting there ever since.

Waiting.

At ten hours, twelve minutes and seventeen seconds, Chloe gasped noisily for air and Oliver flew from the chair to her side.

"Chloe?"

Her eyes were wide in shock and she reached a hand out to him, drinking in the air noisily. Immediately he embraced her, nearly crushing her in relief.

"Oh thank God."

"You're okay," she whispered, holding him just as tightly.

Oliver clutched her more tightly still. She'd been dead and she was concerned about him. It was sick. "You're never doing it again. Never, understand?" he said more harshly than he'd intended.

"Wh--" the word died on her lips as understanding came. "H--how long?" she asked tremblingly. "How long was I dead?"

"Ten hours."

She closed her eyes in mortification. "Does anyone know?"

"No." He hadn't been able to call anyone. To tell them that he'd killed her. He had held his breath for ten hours, praying for her to come back to him.

"I'm so sorry, Ollie," she said, burying her face in his shoulder as he kissed her hair over and over again. She wasn't sorry she'd saved him or that her power had come back, only that he'd endured seeing her lifeless corpse for ten hours. Judging by the fact that he was nearly cracking her ribs with no sign of letting up soon, it hadn't been a good experience for him. "Are you okay?"

He laughed shortly, a bitter sound. "Physically, mentally, or emotionally?"

"All of the above."

"Physically: never been better. Mentally: disgusted and angry and ready to lash out at the first thing to look at me the wrong way. Emotionally: never been so torn up in my life. Or grateful," he ground out.

She ran a soothing hand over his back.

"More important question," he said, finally pulling away from her to check her up and down. "How are you?"

She laughed nervously. "Fine. I think."

"Don't ever do it again."

She knew there was no point trying to tell him she wasn't even sure how she'd done it this time, so there was no guaranteeing it wouldn't happen again. Rather than trying to reason with him, she nodded in submission.

"Good." He kissed her forehead. "What do you need?"

Chloe's eyes searched his, suddenly confused. Something was different. "What happened?"

"Besides the obvious? Nothing."

She shook her head. He was looking at her differently. Not even the 'you just saved my life differently' she'd seen on others' faces or even felt on her own. Something was distinctly out of place with him. "Stop it."

"What?"

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like...like...I don't know. I don't like it though. You look like you want to go throw yourself off a building."

He glanced away from her for the first time. "Probably because I do. You're the only thing stopping me."

"Don't you dare say that!" she said, sitting up heatedly.

He pushed her back down. "Take it easy."

"Don't tell me to take it easy! I'm fine! Stop it this instant!" she demanded, volume rising.

"Relax, okay! I'm not throwing myself off of any buildings!" He stood to get her a glass of water and some toast.

Chloe looked hard at him. She'd heard the rest of the sentence, unvoiced though it had been. It was ringing in the air around them.

_But I would have if you hadn't come back_.

"We should talk," she said, rising to follow him.

"You should lie down," he countered, dropping bread in the toaster.

"I don't need to lie down. I'm fine."

"You're pale as a sheet."

"I AM FINE!" she shouted angrily, forcing him to turn and face her.

"You were dead for ten hours," he hissed.

"Yeah. So all things considered, I'd say I'm doing pretty good about now," she threw back at him. "Stop feeling guilty. It's not your fault. I don't even think it's my fault, really, seeing as I had no idea this was going to happen. It's not even the fault of the bastard who shot you, seeing as he had no way of knowing this was even _possible._ It's no one's fault."

"You were dead, Chloe," Oliver said, suddenly grabbing her shoulders and shaking her slightly. "You were dead and it was supposed to be me. You're not allowed to die!"

"But you are?" she asked him incredulously. "Why does it even matter? We're both alive. Everything's fine."

"Because it might not have been! You might not have come back--"

"But I did!"

"--and you would have left me here without you and I can't handle that!"

Chloe fell silent in shock. He pulled her roughly to him again, cradling her to his now shaking body.

"I can't deal with you not being here," he choked out the words and Chloe realized with horror that he--that _Oliver Queen_--was crying.

"Ollie, I--"

"I love you, damn it."

Chloe stopped, her body going rigid.

"God, I love you."

"You're in shock. You've been through too much tonight. I--"

He was shaking his head, tightening his hold as he prevented her from extracting herself from his arms. "No."

"No what?"

"No, I'm not in shock. I've known for ages. I didn't tell you because I knew I'd send you running for the hills because that's what you do."

She stiffened at his implications of her own cowardice but didn't argue because somewhere deep inside she knew it was the truth. She was ready to make her way to those proverbial hills at that very moment.

"I love you, Sidekick, and you are not allowed to die. Not as long as I can do it for you."

Chloe caught her breath at his words and their meaning. Her body trembling, she pushed back gently, allowing his arms to stay wrapped around her. Her hand reached anxiously to his cheek and turned his head to face her. She flinched at the pain she found there and suddenly felt the impulse to cry herself. Slowly, she pulled him down to meet her lips. She kissed him softly, carefully even, then whispered against his lips, "I'm okay. Everything's okay."

His hands flew to the sides of her face and held her there as he kissed her as hard as he could, saltwater and desperation mixing with her taste.

Chloe returned the kiss as well as she could. He'd told her he loved her. The kiss told her how much.


End file.
